Monday, June 29, 2009

What? Floogin's an MJ fan? Um, no. Not really. Sure, a young Floogin was mesmerized by the green lasers in the Off The Wall video - it was off the wall, no? Sure, I watched him steppin' on lights, singing about someone else's kid. Sure, I stayed home to see the WORLD PREMIERE videos, and yes, Floogin did attempt to moonwalk in the privacy of his own home. Didn't everyone back then?

Ok, maybe not everyone but I did. And yes, his music was good back then. Yes, it was overplayed and he most certainly did become a freak show of sorts.

Let's face it, when you hang with a monkey, sleep in a glass coffin and start altering your appearance beyond recognition, things are not quite normal.

So, the world mourns his passing. Today we find out he weighed under 115 pounds and his body was covered in track marks. He was a fucking junkie. That's what they're telling us. That's why his personal physician fled after trying to revive him and that's why his physician's lawyer has been doing all his talking. Who the fuck lawyers up if they're innocent and not being accused of anything? Guilty people, that's who.

And so, we know he was into his pain killers. We also know he was into some odd shit. The monkey and the ranch and all that other crap that he did to ensure that he was surrounded by very young children. That all plays right into the pedophile claims, no? The man paid people off to avoid lawsuits and criminal charges. Again, who does this? Guilty people, that's who.

He was broke. He was was an accused pedo. He was a junkie and he spent the latter part of his life making himself look whiter and whiter and so, now that he's dead, who are the two spokesmen for the grieving family and the lost idol?

The Reverend Jesse Jackson and the Reverend Al Sharpton.

Two of the biggest piles of shit around. These two spotlight hogging scumbags will latch onto anyone in an effort to promote themselves. Sure, Joe Jackson was photographed grinning like a Cheshire over the weekend and why not? Thanks to the death of Michael, all things Jackson will now become hot again. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if the remainingJacksons put out another cd and went on tour. LaToya and Michael's mom both went to his home, looking to find the cash Michael supposedly loved to stash all over the place.

Everyone wants to cash in on the death of this fallen idol and the two at the top are the two biggest scumbags around. Jesse and Al are talking about how Michael paved the way for black musicians like Jackie Robinson did for black baseball players. Say what?

Before Michael there was Chuck Berry, James Brown, Jimi Hendrix, and, oh, a million others. Michael just sold more records and, like another fallen idol, OJ, he ditched his roots on the way up.

Michael and OJ seemed to shun their roots, OJ wanted nothing to do with the black community and Michael didn't want to look like himself, opting for surgery after surgery in what seemed to be an obsession with looking like some freaky old white queen.

And now that he's dead, he's the Jackie Robinson of music, an insult to every black musician before him. Musicians like Fats Domino, Etta James, Chubby Checker, SnooksEaglin, Howlin Wolf, etc. Do Berry Gordy, Stevie Wonder and Quincy Jones not matter? What about Diana Ross who discovered the family? Was she not black too?

Such hypocrisy and the concept of ignoring all the kookery of the last 15 or so years of his life is a joke. He hung "his" kids over balcony railings, called one of these kids "blanket" and turned them into freak shows unto themselves. Their mother says they aren't his kids, the semen was from an anonymous donor and she doesn't want them either. Nice.

And there were pics of these kids. They weren't his. One of them looks like an extra from Village of the Damned.

The concert promoter who was looking at a $100 million dollar loss thanks to his death has announced a cd and dvd of his recorded rehearsals. The family supposedly has over 100 songs to release.

The man was worth more dead than alive and everyone will try and capitalize on it.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

My dad's friend gave him tickets to see the Mets. Two tickets per game, four games over the course of the summer. So, last night was the game. Neither one of us really wanted to go. For starters, the weather continues to suck ass. The forecast was for rain at night and we didn't want to get stuck there during a rain delay or, worse, stuck in the rain without umbrellas.

On top of that, the Mets are not the Mets. They're the replaceMets. They have more injured players than starters right now. Two starting pitchers, one relief pitcher (set up man, very important), one catcher gone, one just came back, their centerfielder is gone and he was having a stellar year, their shortstop, who leads off and is a key catalyst in more than half of their wins (their winning percentage in games he gets on base is insane) is out, their first baseman, who is their clean-up hitter, is gone, their back-ups are hurt and, fuck, no need to continue. They have one of their core players still playing. It's a minor league team and even then, some of the players are AA level, not AAA.

Still, we decided to go. The train was at 6:36 so we hightailed it to the station and just made it onto the train before the doors closed. As we approached the first stop I realized I left the tickets on my desk. Not the train tickets, the fucking baseball tickets. We got off the train at the first stop so that we could turn around and go get the tickets and my dad, being the smarter of the two, suggested we call my new tenant to see if he was still around. He was and he said he'd bring us the tickets as soon as his wife dropped his daughter off.

We waited.

He finally showed up around 7:00. We got to the stadium as the first drops fell. As we sat down the rain started coming down. We watched the morons in the grounds crew mangle the tarp covering. Twice. By the time they finally removed and recovered the infield the third time, the rain stopped and the game was set to continue. Problem was, all that time trying to cover the field resulted in a soggy, unplayable infield. We were forced to sit through a rain delay that was more than twice the length of the rain itself as we watched them re-sand the infield.

The game sucked, they lost. The stadium is amazing. Perhaps it's a result of the newness but it was fucking nice. Looked clean and shiny and the staff were all so polite and courtious. Opening doors, greeting you, wishing you well. Even the crowd was a bit classier than normal. It was a very pleasant, extremely enjoyable experience and I'm actually looking forward to taking my son in August - we've got insane seats for him, complete with waitress service.

As a result of my dad being a bit on the tired side, we didn't get a chance to walk around the stadium and check out the restaurants in center field. Some stellar food options exist but this wasn't the night to check them out. My dad said he doesn't think he'll want to go again so I might take my wife or pass the tickets along to my associate who was so fucking cool about bringing us the tickets.

Monday, June 22, 2009

So, the other day, my son is sitting on the can, doing what men do best (not jerking off, the other thing, wait, not pay your bills ladies, the other other thing). He calls me in to talk to him and I protest, as I'm wont to do. Not a big fan of breathing in fumes.

He offers a courtesy flush so I join him in the bathroom.

He starts telling me some bizarre fucking story about shit that makes no sense whatsoever. I want, for one full day, to live in his world. I have visions of electric neon lighting, people and dinosaurs flying around, super powers abound and everything seems like it came right out of Pee Wee's Playhouse, minus the pedophilia.

So, anyway, he's telling me about his buddy Robin and I stop him and ask if Robin goes to camp with him. He says "no, Dad, Robin's a ninja."

Oh. OK.

How the fuck does my son know what a ninja is?

I ask him what Robin looks like and he says "he's orange and he wears all black. No, wait, I mean he's black and he wears all orange."

Oh, now I get it. Robin's a criminal in prison and I'm wondering how a convict escaped and, more important, has he touched my son?

I ask if Robin knows FlooginMcNoogin and he says "DAD!! of course he does. Me and Floogie and Robin are buddies, we fight bad guys together."

It's all making a bit of sense now. He then tells me that Floogin takes them to the bad guys because he's a big dinosaur and he can get there faster than they can because they can't drive, except for mario kart and that isn't real.

OK, so your dinosaur friend can get you there and mario kart isn't real. Now I'm starting to think the acid I took in college is repeating on me. Flashbacks are cool.

I ask my son if Robin has a last name and he says "Storbinz." So, Robin Storbinz, the black ninja in orange is my son's sidekick. Yeah, he's normal.

The weekend at ChezMcNoogin was interesting, to say the least. My daughter was very well behaved, none of the bullshit she pulls when she's around her cousins. No rude behavior, no screaming insanity. The other kids all acted like the normal annoying loons they can be, but, thankfully, not her.

I was forced to endure close quarters with the deadbeat as it rained most of the weekend and there was nowhere to go. Fortunately, we had friends stop by so I wasn't forced to witness this interloper acting in a huff over the way everyone was treating his home because that is, pretty much, exactly how he acts. I also might have uncovered the root of his temper. More on that later.

So, for father's day we gave my dad his gifts. The kids weren't allowed to sit on papa's lap because the deadbeat's daughter had to or she would cry. Floogin Jr sat next to him and his sister, Floogette (not her real name) had to stand a bit away because the other idiot grandchild refused to move, lest he too burst into a crying fit.

Every time my kids went to hand something to their grandfather, one of the idiot children had to grab it out of their hands and hand it over as if it was their gift. Then they had to help unwrap the gifts.

After a minute or two of card giving and watching my kids get pushed aside by these dolts, I suggested we do the gift giving later, when we could do it without having the other kids take away the fun. My sister, their mother, sits there, not saying a word so my mother finally says "get off papa, let them have their time with him."

He was thrilled with everything and then it was my turn. For my anniversary, my wife gave me a bunch of things that I didn't need and I told her it was a waste of money to accept things that I truly didn't need. So, what does she do? Gets me the same things (different ones but same category). I act excited about the sweatshirt, it looks good on me so I figure, fuck it, I'll keep it. The belt? I tell her it's a total waste of money (it was expensive, I think, and she needs to preserve her own money). The tee shirts didn't fit, except for one and I'm wearing it today. Then my kids each hand me something they picked out themselves. My son got me a baseball "mitten" so we can play catch all the time and my daughter picked out a gift card to the bookstore because she "feels bad that I always spend my money buying her gifts, now I can use mommy's money to buy the gifts."

I was truly thrilled with it all. Yes, I said that. Happy as a pig in shit.

Later in the day, prior to dinner being served, my idiot brother in law had a fight with his wife. He was in a rush to leave, she wasn't. Everything revolves around him and keeping him calm so, when he started freaking out about my wife not being there I asked what the deal was. He was irate about her not being there so he wasn't going to start grilling until she came back. He asked me 3 times over the course of ten minutes if I knew when she was coming back. I finally said "call your wife and ask her, they're together asshole."

My mother ran out of room. Seems she fears the guy's temper so much that she thinks he is always seconds away from a physical altercation.

During dinner the kids ate and then ran off to do their own thing. My son was walking towards the back bedroom, following his sister and he was saying "leave me alone, I want to be with Floogette" and "I want to be alone with my sister." My niece, the deadbeat's daughter, who is almost a year older than my 4 year old boy, is very annoying, like her mother was at that age and appears to be a few bulbs short, like both of her parents. She is trying to keep up with my son, she's repeating something, right in his face and he's trying to walk away from her, around her etc. They leave the dining room and head into the kitchen and you hear my son repeating his mantra several times, then you hear a knock, then you hear an angry wail (her) and a loud scream of pain (him) and my brother in law is up saying "he hit her, I'm gonna kill him."

My wife is up like a shot. So is my sister. She's yelling "calm down" to her husband. My wife is chasing after them all to protect her son and to discipline him if he did something (the little girl cries when the wind blows). I stand up, calmly, and start walking back towards the scene. As I get to the room, my sister is holding her husband back, he's trying to get my son who has scampered under a bed. My wife is at the bed, slowly trying to pull him out, knowing, if he comes out too soon, crazy brother in law will go after him.

I put my hand on my brother in law's shoulder, pull him back and tell him to take care of his daughter. He mumbles something about my son and I calmly tell him I will handle my son and if he goes near him, there will be two deadbeats (not their real names) holding their heads and crying and, I say, I will not stop until the years of pent up aggression are released. My sister looks at me, sees the frightening calm in my eyes and knows that I am dead serious, that I am actually relishing the opportunity to beat her husband to a fucking pulp. (she told me this later in the evening).

He grabs his daughter and takes her outside to sit on the step right outside our window. Not sure why he chose that spot but he's mildly retarded so there's no point trying to figure it out.

Junior clocked his daughter with his nintendods because, in his words, she wouldn't leave him alone. That was the knock. The angry wail was her as she scratched deep lines into his face and the scream of pain was his reaction to the scratches.

He was roundly disciplined because, regardless of her being a gnat, McNoogins don't hit other people.

The rest of the dinner and ensuing dessert was tense as could be. This morning's conversation with my mom explained many of the issues in that household. Everyone's afraid of this fucknut. She told me she is on eggshells, lest she set him off. She says my sister constantly watches him to get to him before he blows a gasket and so on. So, I had to explain to my mother that this is because he is angry over the way every acts in his home. I told her to take her house back, let him know that his temper, his sense of entitlement and his attitude are not welcome otherwise there will always be tension and everything will always be centered around him, driving the family apart.

She agreed so we'll see where that goes. Then I told her to talk to him when he's drunk because he's a crier, not a fighter when he's drunk and that his temper issues and his outbursts are always during sober hours and he's probably on edge without his booze. In other words, he's a fucking alcoholic.

I know, I'm a dick for making things worse but, for the first time in 10 or so years, my family is treating me like the son I am and I'm going to enjoy it.

Friday, June 19, 2009

It has rained every day this month. Ok, that's an exaggeration. It didn't rain today. Yet. The sun came out for a minute or two and people wandered outside, squinting and shielding their eyes like they all just spent a month in the "hole."

To say it's been wet has been an understatement. By the middle of the month we were close to breaking the record for rainfall for the month. That's right, half a month and we've got the highest rainfall on record (almost) for the month of June.

And it's been fucking cold. Mid 60's sucks in June. I spent a nice chunk of change on a cabana at the beach and it's been raining and cold and, basically, not usable. Figures.

The forecast for the weekend is cold and rainy and I think I heard the man on the radio say it was going to shit all weekend. Literally. Large and small chunks of actual shit will fall all weekend. The only time it will let up is when it's raining vomit.

Yay.

Father's day should suck. I'm going to my parents' for the weekend. I was going to go this afternoon but the shitty weather coupled with the incendiary potential for family fireworks made me adjust the time spent in the foyer to hell. Instead, we'll wake up and go tomorrow, drop our shit off, have some lunch and head out to see friends. Avoid them all until Sunday is my plan of action here.

Sure, I know, I posted that I set the house of McNoogin straight a few weeks back but the luster on that wore off after about 8 minutes and my mother has reverted back to being what she always was and my dad, well, he doesn't seem to want to face the issues at hand so he allows everyone to walk around, half informed, filled with internal anger for everyone else.

Fireworks.

On the bright side, I should get something from the wife and kids on Sunday. Probably won't fit or won't be of any use but I am going to act like I love it, regardless. My wife has decided that it doesn't have to look good or even be something I need. Instead, she has taken to buying me things based on the discount. She saw some jackets (I don't need any) at a store, marked down by over 40%. I looked them up on the internet. Ugly. I told her that. She told me they were marked down from over $2000 and now they below $500. I told her they could be free and I still wouldn't want to waste closet space on them.

So, I'll get some shit I don't like but I'll pretend I do.

Maybe they'll get me a hat or a hair piece. Seems I'm losing my hair or so I'm told. Bald spot is visible in the back. That's what my wife told me the other day.

I told her she looked like she might be gaining a second ass.

I think I'll ask for a some sex for father's day. Nothing special, nothing kinky or outlandish. Just a few minutes of loving. I'm sure the wife can offer that to me, right? I mean, how hard is it to take the kids out and leave me alone for 15 minutes?

Monday, June 15, 2009

OK, parenting.com did but, still, the shitty gift thing is all me. I own it. I've been writing about it since March when I got shit for my birthday and now these cocksuckers at parenting.com think they can lift my pathetic life and turn it into a feel good article for women to read? Feel good as in "doesn't it feel good to get your husband shit when he gets you whatever you want, whether there's a holiday or not."

And how fucking pathetic is that? A lame version of me? That's pretty lame. That's like getting hit by a bus and being rescued by paramedics, only to have the ambulance get into an accident on the way to the hospital.

Pretty fucking sad.

Feel free to comment over there and tell them that they're lifting my material.

Friday, June 12, 2009

So, last night was my anniversary. Nine years of wedded bliss. So she tells me.

Took Mrs McNoogin out to dinner. Daniel. Very nice, very fancy. Good food. Good time. Went home and there were boxes of gifts for me to open. My wife decided it was time to give me last year's channukah gift, my birthday and our anniversary gifts all at once. I'm guessing there was a sale at Barney's so she hit the store with a vengeance. I opened the first box. A nice belt. Too small and I don't really need another black belt so back it goes. Next box. Two long sleeve shirts, sweatshirt like in appearance. "They're for after the beach" she tells me. "Black? After the beach?" Back they go.

A jacket. Ugly. Looks like a nascar driver's jacket minus all the color and patches. She says I need another spring/summer jacket. I tell her I have two black jackets and the suede brown. She says "forgot about them but this was more than 50% off."

I then explain that I don't want a gift that was a good bargain, I want a gift that is right for me, something I will like.

Next box.

a weekend bag. This I like. Leather bag, blue with brown stripes. Very classy, very nice. "It's perfect for when you go away for a weekend." I only go away with her for weekends and, thanks to her and the kids, I pack a huge bag and fit all of their shit in with mine. I tell her I will attempt to pack for a weekend tonight, see if the bag is big enough. I'm fairly sure it isn't. It's really a gym bag but I didn't want to tell her this.

So, no gifts. Again. I know, I'm difficult but I'm certainly not going to let my wife waste money on things I don't want or need. More so since she is unemployed.

So, back to the drawing board she goes and now she has the added misery of father's day coming up too. Last father's day she was successful, perhaps this one will break the curse.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

ok, not serious trouble but an issue that needs to be dealt with, and fast.

My beloved Zen is almost at capacity. That's right. 32 GB of music and I've got 1.7 GB left. I'm screwed. It's going to take me a lifetime to sift thru the music and delete songs. Napster would be an easy way to do this if it actually read the Zen. Sure, the songs transfer perfectly but the whole concept of using napster to organize the songs? Not happening.

So I use the Zen organizer software and it sucks. I can't simply list all the songs. I can only go by the folders, opening them individually, deleting the songs and moving forward. Very time consuming.

And the truth is, I like my songs. I'd rather get an mp3 player that holds more music. I could snag a 16 gb memory card but I can't figure out how to transfer songs to the card so I'm kinda fucked anyway.

I have my old Vision:M (60GB). It was an incredible player but it's big and clunky and the zen is small and sounds better. The thing is like a credit card. It's stellar in every way. Creative makes the best players around. Apple has said as much by settling the patent infringement lawsuits for hundreds of millions of dollars.

Alas, the 32 GB zen is the most space around and it isn't enough.

So, I'm contemplating my options, trying to figure out what to do and I'm open for suggestions.

Anyone who can think of a small player with huge storage capacity, please let me know and, for the record, apple products suck so don't bother mentioning them.

Tuesday, June 02, 2009

I went to take a piss before and there was someone dropping a load that was so foul, so pungent, so fucking gross that there were flies in the bathroom. I'm on the 20th floor. That's a big fucking climb for a little fly. Sadly, these flies came up thinking there was a fine smelling shit to land on and eat. What they discovered when they got to the open window was a bathroom with no shit to land on. They were, clearly, too weak to fly down to the street so they were buzzing, weakly, around the bathroom. As I was peeing, and holding my breath, a fly landed on the top of the urinal. It looked up at me, those big, fucked up fly eyes looked so sad, so weak. And then it happened. The fly gagged. This guy's shit stunk so bad, even flies were gagging. That's about as foul as it can get, I guess.

When your shit's so wrong that even flies aren't showing love, you should head to a doctor for a check up.

I quickly finished up and washed up so I could escape from the cloud and get some air.

As I began heading back to my office I thought about the fly, sitting there, looking up at me with those odd looking eyes.

I had to go back and save the fly. I couldn't let it lie there, wallowing in that stench. I turned the knob, took a deep breath and ran in. The fly, alas, was dead.

The source of the odor was now at the sink, washing his hands and talking on his cell. It was my new tenant. I immediately screamed at him for killing the fly. He looked at me like I was crazy so I scooped up the dead fly and brought it over to him. He looked at me like I was nuts.

I looked at him like a murderer. His ass, and the contents within, killed a fucking fly. Flies live for shit, they love stink and his shit, his stink, were so fucking bad that it killed a fly. Think about that. That's like being killed by air or a really big, really tasty cheeseburger. Too much to handle? An overdose of sorts, I guess.

R.I.P. Fly

On a side note, I shaved my balls over the weekend. I was having a conversation with someone about girls who go with the full bald look and I said I liked a bit of hair down below, nothing major, nor 70's Angela Davis Afro, just a nice strip to point me in the right direction. The conversation turned towards men who shave their pubes and someone said "it makes your dick look bigger, that's why so many porn stars do it."

First, I thought, "dude's spending too much time staring at cock." then I thought, perhaps, maybe, it was worth a try. Not like anyone will notice, besides me so what's the difference, right?

So I did some trimming with my electric razor, then I realized I can no longer use that to trim the burns. Then I started lathering up the stubble and then it hit me. What the fuck was I doing? I was about to take a razor to my most sacred, special place and for what? To make my dick look bigger? Does that even work? Seriously, I've seen plenty of shaved vaginas in my life, some real and up close, some in print, some in movies, they've never seemed abnormally large due to lack of hair. Why would a woman want to make her vagina appear bigger anyway? Boobs? Sure, I can understand that. Some men are into big boobs, even if they do look cartoonishly silly with basketballs implanted under the skin. Some men get off on really fat broads too. Hell, there are sites on the internet for women in glasses getting facials. But a big pussy? Does the concept of giant pussy really appeal to anyone other than farm animals and elephants? I guess, if I was hung like Dumbo, I might see a grand canyon sized pussy and think "yeah, that would work."

Of course, I'm not elephantine at all, unless you count my ego so I see a large vagina and think "lots of kids or lots of cock." I guess, if I shaved my pubes, my dick would look bigger and I'd see the giant vagina and think, yeah, that'll work.

So I shaved my pubes.

And my wife saw me towelling off after a shower and said "wow, you're penis looks huge, too bad you had to shave your balls though, it's gonna itch like a motherfucker and now it's looking too big for this" and she pulled down her panties and as the wookie fur expanded into the new found space around it, I swear I heard a whooshing sound. I definitely felt a breeze.

Monday, June 01, 2009

Friday morning I sent out an email to my dad, figuring I'd avoid further drama with my mother over the whole deadbeat brother in law mess. The email was sent to my dad with a note that said I had planned on sending it to them both blah blah blah.

My dad gave it to my mom. He figured she needed to know everything since, between the two of them, they'd created a situation that was now on the verge of ripping the family apart.

So, I had a little talk with my dad, brief but he apologized, said he had no clue how much I've had to deal with, no idea how my mom was treating me etc.

Then my mom called. She was crying, she's sorry, she had no idea what was going on, how much I've had to handle and how much I've been burdened with and how little she was aware of and blah blah fucking blah.

She sounded sincere. I'm guessing the email will last for a week. After young McNoogin's 4th birthday, things will go back to normal, I'll be the asshole who is always trying to create drama in the house of McNoogin. But Friday? One day? Yeah, I was the good son again. First time in ten or so years. It felt kinda nice.

Of course, from there it went downhill.

Saturday, the beach with the kids. Got there early, saw some friends and was all prepped to enjoy a nice day by the ocean. Only it wasn't that warm. It was hot as balls in the city but by the ocean? Cooler. Much cooler. So, when my daughter said she wanted to go in the ocean I said no. For starters, it's 70 at best out and the water temperature is in the neighborhood of 50 degrees. We were standing in the water, ankle deep when I said that. Then my balls ran, shrieking, up behind my spleen for warmth.

So, the pool, she said. Let's go in the pool. Definitely. She can swim well enough that I can sit on the side and watch and all is right in the world and "Dad, I want to go too."

FUCK.

The boy.

Forgot about him. I need to be with him. I could put swimmies on him but he has to learn to swim without them and he can stand in this pool now so, fine, fuck it, I'll go in. How bad can it be?

I shit an ice cube Saturday night. That's how bad.

The pool is heated but it's huge so it takes forever for it to warm up. By August it feels like you're swimming in a giant urine filled toilet but now? In May? The Titanic wouldn't have sailed in that water.

But my kids did. And so did I. For an hour.

Then we ate at my wife's favorite italian restaurant. She loves this place because it's where she went when she was growing up. Every town has a pizza/pasta joint like this. Hers is much larger than most but the food is, more or less, the same. Good, not great. Big scene etc.

And, for some reason, I get sick every time I eat there. Doesn't matter what it is, something in the food results in my spending inordinate amounts of time on the throne afterward.

And I did.

Big time.

Sunday we had to go see my mother outlaw at her new rehab facility. Not rehab for her addiction to painkillers (thank god), rehab for her hip. She had the second one replaced last week and, as much as she drives me nuts, this woman is an ox. She had the hip replaced on Tuesday. She was walking the next day. She's a tough old broad. If I'm ever in a dark alley, surrounded by some gang, I want her with me. She's scary as fuck and strong as hell. I'd take her over tyson in his ear eating days.

Before rehab , my daughter had a birthday party. A fucking movie at 10 am. I didn't even know movie theaters were open that early. I was going to take both kids and stay with my son and watch the movie (UP) but he bailed at the last minute so I took my daughter and wound up with 2 or so hours to kill. So, I went to the toy store for a bit, hit starbucks and then sat in the middle of Broadway and enjoyed the scenery. Then, after realizing I'd killed all of twenty minutes, I walked to my office. My new tenant was moving in so I thought it might be nice to check on his progress. I was sorry I did the minute I opened the door. Well, tried to open the door. It was blocked from the inside so I had to climb in.

The office was a fucking disaster area.

I hung out for a few minutes and then left because it was scaring me. All that shit and no place to put it. I reminded the new guy that the one caveat is no clutter.

Spent the afternoon at rehab, dinner with the outlaws (not mother outlaw, she's confined to the facility). Decent burger joint, got home late.

Get to work this morning and see that the new guy has moved artwork and furniture around. He's going to have to put that all back.

He also managed to get his network up and running as well as his printer.

And how did he manage this? By disabling mine, it seems. And the cocksucker isn't here to deal with it.

His tech guy says he'll be in around lunch time. My tech guy can't make it at all today.

So, I can access the internet. I can look at my files and I can talk to my clients but I cannot do anything beyond that.

On the bright side, I have time to head to the costume shop and see if there's a spiderman costume that won't make me look like a fucking jackass. Either that or a goblin costume for the boy's party.